Psychiactric Evaluation

part two

~ from the journal of Juliana Corman, D.P.~

Date: November 12, 1968
Patient: personal note

I know I shouldn't be writing my personal notes here, but the day is slow - I scheduled it that way just in case - and I cannot keep my mind focused. I should have kept a diary over the years, but I guess beneath the veneer this is as close as it gets. Having to write profiles and journal entries for all of my patients over the years, it saps the will to write anything else. Perhaps that's one of the reasons there aren't many bestsellers out there for those in the field of psychology.

Ah, but let me focus, since I have taken the time to begin this. Now that the ink is on the paper I am committed. Hannibal. What an interesting name for a man of mystery. In fact, I don't really know his last name. I'm sure he told me, and it's on the tip of my tongue, but it just doesn't seem that important. There so much more to him than a simple name. Hannibal. Thinking of that name, saying it aloud as I did last night just brings back the memories. Yes, I've been a bad girl, but I shouldn't jump too far ahead.

A week ago as I was leaving the office, I careened into the most gorgeous man I've ever met in my life. I know it's cliché, but I did have a briefcase and an armful of books which went flying. And the man stopped and took the time to help me recover my belongings. Such a gentleman. I had become thoroughly jaded having lived alone in Cincinnati for over ten years now. I was beginning to think that chivalry had truly died - but I was wrong. I had thought I was in a hurry that night, but something about him, about Hannibal, relaxed me and set my mind to drift. He apologized, for apparently he was in a hurry, but he seemed distracted as well. He took me out to dinner, a repayment for a few papers that had flown off into then night never to be reclaimed. I have no idea what those papers were, but I am glad of their sacrifice. We talked, and he had plenty to say. And surprisingly so did I. As a psychologist, I spend so many days listening to others ramble and talk, even if I have to coax it out of them. He seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say. A refreshing change.

That night consisted of dinner only, and I was fine to go home. But still my mind roamed, thinking of this new man in my life. We talked for hours, but I still knew so little about him. He had lived in Ohio all of his days, but had afforded the time to travel. We are of the same age, yet we never crossed paths until now. I know it seems odd, but I have the distinct feeling I know him. Perhaps it's some of that past life mumbo jumbo I hear them talking of on the radio shows. For the next few days I was listless. I hoped he would call me, ask me out to lunch, but I began to realize that it was just a fancy. I've had a few courtships in my days, but no man has ever truly kept my interest for long. I know it has to do with the predisposition of men these days to focus on artificial beauty instead of a sharp mind. Nevertheless, you must realize that I thought I was just an odd occurrence in Hannibal's life. I made much more out of that night than he did obviously.

As the week continued, I did not despair. I focused on my work as I always do, ignoring my problems while working on those of my patients. As Thursday came and the work week ended, I had a terrific surprise. As I left the office, outside stood my savior Hannibal. He had a smile and made a coy comment about bumping into me. I was flustered a bit, wishing he had come to me earlier or shown at least a spark of interest after that first night. But I could not be mad at him. I was enraptured that he had come to see me once more. It hadn't crossed my mind until now that he could be a rogue, leaving the loving arms of a wife while he pursues a prim (and easily encouraged) psychologist. No, I will not think ill of him. Not after last night.

He took me dancing. He took me to dinner. We strolled through the streets, breathing the chill night air as young lovers would. And it was heaven. I tried to engage him in conversation, but he shushed me with a finger to my lips, saying that there would be no interrogations tonight. As the night wound down, I did something that I cannot believe. I asked him to take me as no man had taken me before. I was being impetuous, and I immediately knew it would be my downfall. He had respected me for my mind and here I was throwing myself at him like a trollop. My misgivings were unwarranted, because he enveloped me with a kiss. We returned to his room, of which I remember little. I was admittedly, too far gone at the time. I will not torture myself by reliving the night of passion on paper, but I will say that it was complete heaven. It seemed an eternity, yet when I awoke this morning I was in my own bedroom and alone. I was weak from passion, yet I found the strength to come to work. I am a rational woman and I cannot let myself be overwhelmed this easily.

Hannibal slid off this morning, probably going to work at his job - where I do not know. Once again, I find myself waiting for him to call, or expecting him to appear when I leave for the night. I have become a churlish schoolgirl, my life revolving around a mysterious man of whom I know so little. It is a sad condition, one that I would expect from a patient, not myself. Yet what can I do, other than wait for him? He holds all the cards now, and I can only hope to learn more the next time I see him.

B.Mooney